


the uncertanties i've never known (loving in quantities)

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: A Modern Tragedy, Crack, Lots of sex jokes, Love Hotel, M/M, POV First Person, Sexual Humor, a journey to self love, first he learns sexual love, i'm a broken shell of a person, it's so beautiful im crying, like the dr kind, that's the only reason why i'm crying, then he learns friendship, then he learns who he truly is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25172806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: In a moment, my surroundings shift. There is certainly a process to it, but, to my shame, I am taken aback momentarily. I do not feel taken aback. This is… odd.I am almost excited.(or, a tragedy in three acts of kamukura izuru's adventures in a love hotel. revised title: everyone on the danganronpa 2: tropical despair server, i am so fucking sorry.)
Relationships: Hagakure Yasuhiro/Kamukura Izuru, Hinata Hajime & Kamukura Izuru, Kamukura Izuru & Tanaka Gundham
Comments: 19
Kudos: 19





	the uncertanties i've never known (loving in quantities)

…

A love hotel. 

The premise itself is a source of intrigue. A singular building, crafted for mysterious purposes, located on the Hope’s Peak Academy grounds, tucked into a corner. It is fascinating, really, that others have not spoken about this. Though, admittedly, I would not know about it if they did. I do not typically associate with upperclassmen or underclassmen. 

In any case, it  _ is  _ located in a seemingly suspicious place. Far from human view, not addressed by Kirigiri Jin himself (though, it is expectable for this to occur. I do not typically dislike people. I dislike Kirigiri more than words can express), and for seemingly no purpose. 

Aside from, of course, exploring the fantasies of students through some sort of sexual lens. This is not a subject of interest for me; however, I cannot think of much better to do.

I step inside.

I would like to test a theory, first, before I venture further. Thus, I do, and I choose not to think of a single person. In actuality, with the way my brain operates, I am plagued with fixation regarding every member of Hope’s Peak that I do not care about. However, none are distinct enough for anything to register that could possibly tamper with the person I see. Unless I am expected to fulfill the fantasies of all the students in Hope’s Peak, which would certainly be manageable, but unspeakably uncomfortable.

I do not feel discomfort.

In a moment, my surroundings shift. There is certainly a process to it, but, to my shame, I am taken aback momentarily. I do not feel taken aback. This is… odd.

I am almost excited. 

There is a door. Gaudy, magenta, smooth. I open it and face a room with a strong scent of strawberry, almost nauseating, however, my stummy (stomach and tummy, in a combination some may label amusing) does not feel nausea. In any case, the entire room is a saccharine pink, even the equipment used for sexual endeavors.

There is one thing in the room, at least, that is not pink.

This is because, were this object to be pink, I would be legally obligated to inform a paramedical before I could examine them.

This is a drawn out way to state that this is, in fact, a person.

Hagakure Yasuhiro himself, who is talking to himself, not yet aroused but flushed. “Damn, can’t wait to meet her, I bet she-”

I clear my throat. Hagakure looks up and stares at me. I have been told by many that I am an intimidating sight, so I offer a polite, “Hello,” to diffuse any potential tension.

Hagakure stares at me more, which is beginning to grow redundant, before he says, “Huh?”

I do not know how to answer the question he has barely asked. I think. A thought, one I cannot discern, rages in the back of my temple. What I can deduce is one word: piss. I choose, then, not to interpret further. “I am Kamukura Izuru. You are Hagakure Yasuhiro. This is a love hotel, and I am presuming that we are intended to perform some sexual act together, to your liking.”

Hagakure stares. I wait. He continues to stare. He begins to stare so long that I am beginning to get agitated. I am getting so agitated that the very state of matter I encompass is shifting, merely at the sight of him staring at me with no intention of doing anything interesting. I slip into my coping mechanism with practiced ease, and I become sublime.

…

Becoming sublime is a remarkable method of evasion.

However, there is an unfortunate side effect to this.

In simple terms, I am now gaseous, particularly an overheated kind, and I am floating in a room while Tanaka Gundham plays with his hamsters. It is then, I am filled with an emotion perhaps solely reserved to being vapor. Tenderness. 

This hotel is a love hotel. Not a sex hotel.

Tanaka Gundham loves his hamsters as companions, as well as family. It is a beautiful scene. I suddenly find myself tearing up, though I can only recall doing this one time, which is an event that will occur in approximately two months and results in the death of someone who [REDACTED] once cared about.

I attempt to recollect who [REDACTED] is. I am filled with one thought: piss.

I am no longer sublime. I am sad. I pet Tanaka’s hamsters while Tanaka screeches like a harpy. The scene is so remarkably confusing that I am afraid no amount of time will allow me to interpret it. In any case. I pet the hamsters. I give them scritches. I tune out Tanaka’s interpretation of  _ The Raven  _ from the perspective of a snow leopard, which makes absolutely no sense. In retrospect, it was likely incredibly fascinating, but I am overcome with emotions I am not technically created to have.

There is a melancholic feeling in my stummy. I tell the hamsters this. I whisper to them about piss. I wonder if I am becoming myself from before the Project. I wonder if mortals become piss, in the end. For a brief moment, I curse God. Tanaka follows suit. I do not know how he follows suit. He is speaking an archaic language that I am well versed in but do not care enough to listen to. It is obscure and hardly spoken, anyway, so I have no issues with it. Some may call it English. I call it the visceral dread of an individual attempting to apply grammar conventions at any given point.

Eventually, I turn sublime again, and I live. I feel as if I have learned something. Perhaps… how to love. Not English; the hamsters. They are fluffy.

I do not expect to see the gaudy room again.

… 

I step into the room. Another room. I feel as if I have been in a room before.

There is a surplus of mirrors, alongside a single note, resting on a table constructed of oak wood and cherry wood. Interesting, though the combination is absolutely horrid from the perspective of the Ultimate Interior Designer. 

I step forward to read the note, and it says in clear print, 

**_aren't you a little piss boy, huh, you're just a little lobotomy boy_ **

In this moment, I see Hinata Hajime. A little lobotomy boy. He is in the room, and this is the love hotel room, and I am filled with a certainty that he should not exist. Before the scene can even begin, I turn around and exit the love hotel. I make the determination, then, to never return.

**Author's Note:**

> kidcarma might come to my house and kill me and i want you all to know my last words were, in fact, teehee.
> 
> ...
> 
> this is my masterpiece.
> 
> if you feel inclined to viciously frown at the words that appeared on your screen today, that is entirely understandable. i don't know what i've done.
> 
> jagopolis only ever wanted to vibe. anyway. i'm definitely getting banned off of at least 8 discord servers today, and i am not sure i am even in that many.
> 
> until next time.


End file.
